


slip

by TheBrokaryotes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, im not really sure what this is, lance is hurting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 08:18:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7969309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBrokaryotes/pseuds/TheBrokaryotes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>You gotta hold on</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Or else it’s gonna</em>
  <br/>
  <em>slip,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>slip,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>slip through your hands</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	slip

**Author's Note:**

> song is Slip by Elliot Moss.  
> enjoy

_I hate you._

A battalion of lies, a phalanx of smoke and mirrors. Lance’s safety net had been the distance he put between himself and Keith, the walls he kept erect and surrounding, the jabs and insults he would fling. He was hurting, hurting deep inside. There was an itch he could not scratch, and it didn’t matter if he tore himself apart to try, it would never go away.

 _You don’t mean that._ Keith’s eyes are soft, the early morning sunlight that filters through glass, splattering rainbows on the wall and illuminating the particles of dust that float endlessly in the vastness of the world. 

Fear blossoms in Lance’s chest like a newborn star, white hot. _How do you know what I mean?!_ He’s crying, each tear that drops to the ground echoing like a bullet shot. He throws his hands up to push at Keith’s chest, to drive him backwards. His fingers slice to ribbons every time they come in contact. A carnal yell tears out of him, the fear of an animal in his veins.

 _Why are you crying?_ Keith doesn’t deserve to be afraid. He doesn’t deserve to be worried about Lance, he doesn’t know a thing about Lance, who he is or where he’s been or how he feels. _You don’t have to cry, Lance, please stop crying._

Lance doesn’t deserve to press his face to Keith’s warmth, hear his heart drumming along with the rhythm of the universe. He doesn’t deserve Keith’s arms around him, strong hands pressing hard to his shoulders and fusing him to his body. _I want to go home._

Keith’s lips drag over his forehead, burning his seal into his flesh. They are hot, they are the bullet in Lance’s brain. _I know you do. How can he know? How can he possibly?_

There is not enough rain in Lance’s world to make up the storm he directs now, choking on his clouds of pain and drowning in his monsoon of melancholy. Breathing is hard, a relief his body does not offer up without keeping him suffocated for many—too many—agonizing seconds. He fades in and out of a monotone consciousness of red and black.

Lance’s legs melt beneath him. He slips from Keith’s arms, dropping to his knees. His head tilts back, eyes closed to the brightness of reality behind the lids. Keith’s heat follows him, arms reorganizing to pull him close again, bring him flush to the security of his physical form.

 _I hate you._ The words are worth as much as a grain of salt in the ocean, and Keith knows it. His throat vibrates with noises of his own, but Lance’s world is collapsing, and sound doesn’t mean anything anymore. He’s breaking, breaking down, the madness of space has driven him off the edge, the edge under which he has no safety net. Keith was too close for him to hold one up.

He wants to go home.

_I want to go home._

He remembers Keith’s warmth on his exposed neck, fleeting and unintentional, remembers tears not of his own assembly on his collar, coupled with soft lips and teeth. He remembers pain where pain had never been, catatonia, slipping further and further away from actuality and landing to the floor with his cheek pressed against the cool surface of tile. Keith is beside him, their souls and bodies tangled. Keith’s blazing fire evaporates Lance’s waterlogged essence, resurges him and thrusts him back into the world with a scream. The battalions are defeated, the phalanxes scattered. They dance in the smoke, the mirrors shattered; Lance no longer has the patience for bitter reflection. He was freefalling into some unknown abyss, and if he wanted to make it to the bottom alive, he could not afford to despise himself.

 _I’m sorry._ They both say it so many times, he cannot decipher his voice from Keith’s. He cannot speak on Keith’s behalf, cannot fathom it, but Lance knows why _he_ is sorry. He is sorry for making Keith worthy to agonize over him, for dragging him down, for hurting him.

He is sorry for tricking him into falling in love.

 _I love you,_ Keith’s voice echoes into the cavernous void of Lance’s heart. The words are worth as much as a grain of salt in the ocean.


End file.
